Hours and light

I just wanted to write a quick update on the 24 Hours of Light for family and others. I'm not going to expand on it too much right now because I am in a pretty somber mood. The friend who I have been coordinating with on the Great Divide Race updates, Pete, was the first on the scene at a horrific bear mauling at the 24-hour race in Anchorage - which was going on at the same time as my race. The attack involved a young girl he knew. I hope everyone involved will fully recover, but that still remains uncertain. Also, Geoff is having pretty serious doubts about continuing with the Great Divide Race. I can only imagine there must be some deep and dark self doubt involved with the decision-making process, but I have as of yet been unable to connect with him to talk to him about it. A bit of a dark day, and I could feel it, I could, even as I was surrounded by the cheery festival atmosphere of my race in Whitehorse.

I won the female solo division of the 24 Hours of Light, which I did by simply showing up. I rode my one required lap and 14 extra victory laps, which netted me second overall in the solo category - 15 laps to Jeff Oatley's 18 laps. I rode about 200 km of rough trail - lots of tight, winding singletrack with ~16,000 feet of climbing in 15 laps. I didn't spend myself. I took lots of breaks and a long nap, ate full dinners and breakfasts and hung out with friends, broke my chain and walked most of a lap after discovering I bucked my chain tool out of my frame bag (the trail was rough. Really rough. My butt misses my softtail.) I could have done more to push harder to reach the private places I seek when I do extreme endurance races. But I didn't dig deep and I'm not necessarily disappointed about it. The race organizers did a great job; besides the chain breaking, everything about the race flowed perfectly; I had a great time riding with friends and netted about $400 or $500 worth of Pearl Izumi schwag for my "win." The fact that I now feel about this race in a similar way that I might if I just went to a fun party or saw a really good movie must mean something. I'm sure I'll explore it more after I have slept a bit and hopefully have a clearer state of mind.

I smacked too soon (but I am gonna win)

I definitely feel silly about all my smack talk now, because I am in love with the Yukon. I don't want to beat the good mountain bikers of Whitehorse. I want to join them. They live in paradise - a Canadian Dream. An endless maze of singetrack that starts right out the back door. Dry, flowing trails that you have all to yourself. Amazing winter biking, too (sure, it's sometimes 50 below, but what place is perfect?) I'll tell you what place is close - Whitehorse.

I have experienced a ton of amazing biking in my first two days here. Probably way more biking than is healthy this close to a 24-hour race. But the lure of these tight, rolling trails is too strong, and I have lived in Juneau too long. In the land of roots and mud, you can forget what mountain biking can really be like. I am a singletrack-aholic from a prohibition town, currently on a bender.

My friends and I spent today in Carcross, a trail system with built jumps and berms (trails made for mountain biking! What a concept!) Unfortunately, I made a dumb mistake on an easy spur called "Old Wagon Trail" of all things, and went butt-over-face over the handlebars. I jammed my right knee right into my chainring and ripped a deep gash across my kneecap, and now it is swollen and sore. I'm hoping it loosens up before the race tomorrow. But even if it doesn't, I'm still going to win the race, which I'm kinda bummed about.

Why? Because I found out at the race meeting that I am the only woman competing in the solo class. Not only that, but I must be the only woman who has ever competed in the solo class, because I found out I am racing against my own course record. That's right. My no-training, still-injured, half-time effort of 2007 is supposedly the women's course record. Sigh.

There's still the boys to race against, but that's gonna be hard. I'm up against a couple of local heroes and Jeff Oatley of Fairbanks, a multiple (fast) finisher of the Iditarod Invitational and the first American to cross the finish line in the 2007 Race Across America. Oh well. It doesn't hurt to aim high. Gimpy knee and all.

Dear Canada: Fear me

Date: June 24 and 25
Mileage: 18.0 and 12.1
June mileage: 677.1
Temperature: 61 and 57

I'm trying to get myself pumped up for the 24 Hours of Light. So I thought ... what the heck? Why not engage in a little good, old-fashioned trash talk.

Dear mountain bikers of the Yukon,

You may not remember me. It was just a year ago I first visited your fine land, but I was forgettable back then - the chick with the knee braces and the squeaky full-suspension 26'er. I pumped out a respectable number of laps before midnight, then I ate some soup and crawled into a tent. Just another one of those girls that couldn't handle the full 24 hours, right?

Wrong. I'm coming back. And I'm bringing with me a full year's worth of healing, training, glucosomine and suffering. I'm bringing a full year's worth of technical riding improvement and a new 29'er that can roll over your puny interior-of-the-continent black spruce roots like they were brittle pencils. I'm bringing my healthy knees and rain-soaked Juneau conditioning and Iditarod-forged perspective on just how relatively pleasant 24-hour races really are. In short, I'm bringing my "A" game.

Plus, I am an American and we all have a bone to pick with you Canadians. Your dollar surpassed ours in value, which we are supremely unhappy about. You have that universal health care while we American athletes must routinely decide between physical therapy and food. Yes, we're sure there must be something we're better than you at. I know the answer: 24-hour races.

Why? Well, for one, we train in miles, which make your puny Canadian kilometers look like, well, like something that is a little more than a half mile. And we train in the land of (relatively) cheap gasoline, big cars and abundant off-road vehicles. We dodge Hummers and split trails with roaring ATVs. And, let me tell you, you haven't raced a mountain bike until you've tried to outrun a snowmobile. And don't underestimate our egos. We Americans always believe we're better at everything, even if we're really not. But in this game, believing is half the battle.

Yes, dear mountain bikers of the Yukon, I am coming up from my land of moss and rain to tear across your tundra with nothing to lose and nothing to prove - except that I'm here. And I'm ready. And I'm going to win. And into next year, you will remember me by my scorch marks.

You have been warned.

Sincerely, Jill from Juneau

Forced taper

Date: June 22 and 23
Mileage: 21.2 and 17.7
June mileage: 647
Temperature: 60 and 62

I am getting in a really good taper this week. Only rode an hour and a half yesterday and an hour today. I have so many little errands to run, I likely won't even be able to make the commute tomorrow, and late Wednesday night I leave for Canada. Often when I say I'm insanely busy, it's not really the truth. But right now, I really am that busy. The other day for lunch, I ate several spoonfuls of spicy peanut butter (spiked with cayenne pepper) that was given to me as a Christmas gift. And that was it. It was about all I had left in the cupboard. So this wonderful taper isn't exactly accompanied by wonderful nutrition. I am still trying to decide what I'll eat in the 24 Hours of Light. I am thinking one small water bottle every lap, every other one spiked with Nuun, and a Power Bar or Pop Tart for every two laps (it will probably take me an hour to do each lap.) The temperatures will be mild and the sweat factor will be low, so the Nuun should offer plenty of salt replacement. I have given up on the dream of eating protein (or liquid nutrition) during long efforts.

I heard from Geoff today for the first time since the GDR started. To be honest, I did not expect him to call, at least not this early in the race. I remember when I was riding the Iditarod, my mind was operating in a different universe, one that was repelled by the outside world. When Geoff called me in Nikolai, I was not happy to hear from him. Not at all. In hindsight, it's hard to explain why that was the case. But there is a zone in the midst of a long, hard effort - a quiet feeling of enchantment, that helps a distressed body keep on keeping on, often happily. Forces from the outside world seem to break that enchantment, at which point it's easier to slip into depression and despair.

But anyway, Geoff did call from Wise River, probably during one of his moments of lucidity. I was happy to hear from him this time. Our conversation was not much different from those before the race. No, "Hey, I'm on this crazy hard journey, I've ridden 500 hard miles in just over three days, how are you?" It was just, "how are you?" And I didn't reply, "Oh, I'm trying to prepare for this race that seems so pointless compared to what you're doing, and I'm in a living situation that is really stressing me out, and my job is still hard and I'd love to gripe about it to someone who could listen." No, I just said, "I'm great." But I think both of us understood what the other meant.

These long days

Date: June 20 and 21
Mileage: 20.7 and 32.3
June mileage: 608.1
Temperature: 64 and 54

As I suspected, I have been completely consumed by the Great Divide Race since it started. There have been a couple of other things in there. On Friday, I went fishing out North, where the reflection of the Chilkat Mountains glimmers in glassy bays and I could just dissolve in the scenery, and sometimes do. I caught a small halibut and a yellow-eye rockfish. The "chicken" halibut made for a heavenly lunch, which I scarfed as I listened to the first wave of GDR call-ins. There have been bike rides, work, movies, a new roommate, anger and stress. But, always on my mind, the GDR and its slow march south.

While Brian and I fished on Friday, a humpback whale circled our boat, again and again. A couple of times it breached far out of the water. It blew geysers of water so loud that they startled me. Sometimes it came so close to the boat I could see the deep shine on its skin; of course I never had my camera out at the best moments. Eventually, I just put my camera down and focused on my bobbing halibut pole, and the quiet reflection of the mountains, and the ripples from the humpback twirling around our boat like ribbons on a Maypole. And still, the GDR.

We were both amped up on caffeine and the promise of the solstice, so we caught a late movie downtown, where club music rattled the air and teenagers weaved through the streets like spawning salmon. We saw "Get Smart" and laughed the whole time - so much better than we thought it would be. It was still light outside well after midnight, and the music still pounded, and the teenagers were still out, and the longest day faded on its arc toward winter. And still, the GDR.

I rode today in the rain. It's been quite a while since it rained so hard it made my nose run, but that happened today. It was a short ride. I'm tapering for the 24 Hours of Light, which I don't think about any more. Geoff is doing awesome in his race. His last SPOT showed him in likely second place between Seeley Lake and Lincoln, Mont. He sounded very happy in his first call-in. Like a lifelong "Price is Right" fan who finally has his chance to come on down. I saw a picture of him at the start of the race, the only one of 18 looking at the camera, with a huge smile and two thumbs in the air. It made me feel so exuberant - and sad.

And still, the GDR.

GDR 2008

Date: June 19
Mileage: 54.2
June mileage: 555.1
Temperature: 57

Today I went out for my last longish ride ahead of the 24 Hours of Light. I dawdled through the gray morning and left around 2 p.m. in light drizzle only to return with the high 8 p.m. sun over a cerulean sky almost completely flush of clouds. A mood-brightening development for sure. I hit up all the trails in the Valley. All of 'em. Well, there were probably a few singletrack spurs that I missed (there are lots of trails out there that you can only follow for a quarter mile before you're forced to backtrack.) I also made my first-ever wheeled attempt of the East Glacier Trail. I definitely ventured beyond my comfort level, both on the climbs and descents - but especially the descents. In doing so, I also pulled, unintentionally, the coolest mountain biking move I have ever successfully rolled away from. I was bombing down the switchbacks, a little faster than I probably should have been, when I hit a hairpin curve I had no chance of rounding. Beyond the curve was a pretty good drop - the bushes probably would have caught me before I fell too far, but I was destined to shoot off the ledge. So I did what any novice mountain biker would do - I completely locked up both brakes. The front wheel wedged up against a couple of small boulders, which probably prevented an endo, and the back wheel swung around, in the air, at a perfect 90-degree angle. And just like that, I was still on my bike, suddenly facing the right direction down the trail. So I just let off the brakes and continued on my way. Not that I'll ever, ever try that again.

As I puttered around the Mendenhall Valley trail system, Geoff was in Eureka, Mont., making his last preparations for the Great Divide Race, which begins tomorrow at high noon in Roosville, Mont. I have been recruited to help update the call-ins on the race blog, a task I am both looking forward to and dreading (I already spend all of my time working, biking, trying to feed myself, and occasionally visiting my friends. Where am I going to dig out the free time to listen to and transcribe daily call-ins from what will probably be about 20 racers?) But I am excited about becoming more intimately tied to this race, even remotely, in solidarity with Geoff and his monumental task ahead. If I don't find myself too in over my head, I hope to add a little color to the coverage, sportscaster-style, beyond the verbatim phone-call transcriptions. Pete B. has given me the OK to do so. I'll just wait until he asks me to reel it in. But if my blog's quality suffers in the coming weeks, it's because I have my ears glued to Divide racers' descriptions of everything they ate at the last town they visited.

In our final pre-race conversation, I gave Geoff my love and wished him the best. I'm heading out fishing early tomorrow, so I probably won't talk to him again until he finds a working pay phone somewhere on route. It's hard to tell how I feel about everything now that it's obvious he's actually going to attempt the GDR. I also have been following Chris Plesko's singlespeed Divide attempt. His stories are interesting, but I find myself almost more interested in the little bits of commentary from his wife, Marni, who is also playing the role of the GDR widow, at home worrying herself sick some of the time. I've tried to figure out if I feel worried or scared for Geoff, and the truth is, I really don't. I know he can handle whatever is out there. I do know that. I don't know if he can finish the race, and frankly, I don't even really care. Because I know he will have a grand adventure, come what may. To me, that's what's really important.

Go Geoff!

Commuting is easy

Date: June 18
Mileage: 39.7
June mileage: 501.9
Temperature: 51

Dull twilight clings to the horizon at 11:30 p.m., casting a purple glow on wisps of fog draped over the mountainside. My headlamp captures streaks of rain like static in on a TV screen. As the static flickers, it stings, and I glance downward to watch my knees churn. In the yellow light they don't even seem like a part of me, the one who already is zoned in on late-night relaxing and the promise of the weekend. But all the while, my legs carry on, a simple crankshaft spinning mindlessly over the wet pavement.

I started bike commuting more than a month ago, and it no longer feels like extra work. In fact, it doesn't even feel like any work. I used to climb into my car and now I climb on my bike. Little else feels different.

I thought turning myself into a bicycle commuter was going to be my great challenge for the summer, but I was wrong. It isn't hard at all. It took me all of two weeks to get my logistics dialed in, and now I just go. I have to schedule my morning rides a little better to make time, and sometimes I have to put on a rain coat before leaving. But usually I just stuff my work clothes in a plastic bag, walk out the door wearing whatever was sitting on top of my "junk clothes" drawer, and let myself get a little wet. It's only 25 minutes for crying out loud. I keep extra sets of junk clothes at work to have something dry to wear on the ride home. I even had my hair chopped off to shoulder length so I can blow-dry it a lot faster.

To other cyclists out there who don't bike commute: I encourage you to give it a go. One habit translates well to the other. And, honestly, I'm not one of those commuters who feels all smug when I ride by a sign advertising $4.35/gallon gas or walks through the office in bike shorts so all can admire my rippling quads (Ha!) I'm not part of the car-free chorus, I'm just one of the recent converts, let in on the hushed secret that commuting isn't such a big sacrifice after all. So join us in bike commuting, bask in its easiness, and watch it make a big difference in many other aspects of your life.